


little bit of pain never hurt nobody

by arzoensis



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Paddling, Spanking, two wolves in the brain and they're both sharing the brain cell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 05:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19244938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arzoensis/pseuds/arzoensis
Summary: It took a little while for Adam to realize this, but beneath the monotone Canadian exterior, Brandon's got some weird interests. Is that what college does to you? Adam's standing in his kitchen with a cardboard box literally full of sex toys lying on the table, and he's wondering how he got himself in this situation. Not that he's going to complain about it or anything, just. You know."Are you going to do this every time I lose at a wrestling match?" Adam asks."They're not related," Brandon insists. There's a long pause. "But yeah."





	little bit of pain never hurt nobody

**Author's Note:**

> Title from clipping.'s "Wriggle."
> 
> Kind of been on a roll lately. I've got two or three more things that are in the works, and after that it should be radio silence as per usual. Get 'er done

Short people always play dirty. This is something that Adam has learned over the course of his deeply educated life.

Brandon’s straddling him because Adam _allowed_ him to be up there. You have to be giving sometimes when you’re in a relationship. It’s all about compromise.

But Adam also can’t let Brandon win, not when he won last time they wrestled and Brandon wouldn’t let him live it down. He kicks out his leg, hoping to surprise him enough to find an open window. Brandon yelps as he tips over a little, putting his hand down on Adam’s chest—and then he pinches Brandon’s nipple, _hard_.

There’s an interesting noise that’s coming from somewhere in the apartment and very obviously not a noise that Adam made. He clears his throat firmly, because Brandon’s looks like he’s no longer inhabiting his body. Re-establish dominance, Adam. Don’t show weakness.

Brandon focuses his eyes, raises his eyebrows. “Hm.”

“What was that, the pipes?” Adam asks. “Bro, you pay way too much on rent to have shitty pipes.”

Brandon cocks his head and pinches him again—fuck, how does he move so fast?—but at least this time Adam’s prepared enough to squish down his vocal chords and _not_ make the same noise. Which, again, did not come out of his mouth.

It’s still a very… interesting noise. Adam curses his traitorous vocal chords.

“Shouldn’t be surprised you’re into that shit,” Brandon drawls in that awful monotone. The one that can give Adam a chub in seconds. Whatever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Adam replies, the very picture of innocence.

“You punch people and get punched all the time,” Brandon goes on, as if Adam didn’t say anything. “You have to like getting hurt a little.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Adam argues. “Lots of people punch other people.”

Brandon gives him an unimpressed look. “I’ve also seen the forty tabs you have open. Really? _Jock gets smacked around_? _Big ass spanked_? You have a thing.”

“Stop using my laptop,” Adam whines. “You’re trespassing on my private property.”

“You’re not disagreeing with the thing,” Brandon points out. “And, in fact, you seem to be actively into the thing.”

Brandon sits back on his haunches, and that’s a lot of pressure on Adam’s diaphragm. At least he’s not sitting on the, uh, situation down there.

“I mean, we can do something about it,” Brandon suggests. “If you want.”

“First of all, there is no _thing_ ,” Adam says, bravely. “There is absolutely zero percent of anything occurring.”

Brandon gives him a capital-L Look. “Do you get off on being hurt or not?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Adam mumbles. “Don’t be weird.”

Brandon throws his hands up in the air. “I’m asking if you want to get smacked around while we’re fucking, dumbass.”

“Oh,” Adam says. He shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

“Cool. We can work out the kinks later,” Brandon says, and then he laughs at his own joke like a nerd. “Wanna have sex, though?”

“Definitely,” Adam says.

 

 

Adam kicks the door behind him, enormous unmarked package in his hands. “Bro, I think the front desk guy thinks we live together,” he calls out, toeing his boots off and leaving them where-the-fuck-ever. “He saw me come in and handed me your mail.”

Brandon pokes his head out from the hallway. “I mean, you never leave me alone.”

“You’d start crying if I was out of here for longer than fifteen minutes,” Adam says. He drops everything off on the dining table, the one that’s covered in mail from the past week. They—uh—Brandon’ll toss it eventually.

“Yeah, don’t know about that one,” Brandon mutters. He lights up once he sees the package, though. “Oh, sweet. My order came in.”

“What is it this time?” Adam asks, because sometimes he gets a little worried about Brandon’s obsession with ordering things online. He brushes past to look in Brandon’s fridge and finds it desperately, tragically free of alcohol. He digs out a can of La Croix instead.

“Nothing too crazy,” Brandon says absently, having worked through the tape and flaps and currently searching through the layers of bubble wrap. “Just some handcuffs and floggers and stuff.”

It’s a great thing Adam decided to crack open the can over the sink, because when he spits out his first mouthful of lightly flavored sparkling water it’s directly down the drain. Small victories.

“Wanna run that by me again?” Adam gasps. Ugh, fizz in his nose.

Brandon brandishes—jesus—a fucking intense-looking set of what should be legally defined as torture weapons in front of him. “Just some of these.”

“Holy shit, Brandon. If you wanted to run me out of town you could’ve just told me.”

“You said you wanted to get hurt!” Brandon defends.

“I meant like, getting spanked or something, dude,” Adam replies. “How the fuck are we gonna explain _whip marks_ to the trainers?”

“That’s not my problem.” Brandon sniffs. “You’re no fun.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Just use your hands. It doesn’t have to be complicated.” He takes a sip of La Croix. “You can keep the handcuffs, though.”

“And the paddle?” Brandon digs it out of the box, scattering some things that Adam truly does not want to learn about onto the table.

“Okay, yes, the paddle too,” Adam relents, because it _does_ look kinda nice, so maybe they could pass it off as home decor if he’s not into it. Brandon pumps his fist.

 

 

Adam does _not_ feel like he missed out on the gay experience. He’s found guys attractive here and there. It just never occurred to him that he might not be straight until he met Brandon, who apparently has a direct line to (and hold on) Adam’s dick. So yes, Brandon makes fun of him constantly for it, but he’s also genuinely patient and thoughtful about explaining… everything, you know?

Adam pokes Brandon awake (with his _fingers_ , not his—you know). “Hey. Brandon.”

“No.”

“When did you know that, like, you liked guys?” Adam asks, jabbing Brandon again just in case he tries to go back to sleep.

Brandon groans. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”

“No,” Adam says, cheerfully. The truth is he feels safe here in a way he doesn’t know how to explain, asking about this when Brandon’s half-asleep and they can’t read each other’s faces in the dark. Like he said—this isn’t something he knows about. He doesn’t _actually_ want Brandon to make fun of him. That’d hurt his feelings a bit more than he wants to admit.

Brandon sighs, wipes at his eyes. “High school-ish, I guess. I mean, I sorta knew before that, but I didn’t do anything about it.”

“Did you date in college?”

Brandon hums. “A little. Nothing too long term. One guy for a little less than a year, but he graduated and moved back to Wisconsin.”

There’s a long pause while Adam thinks about what he’s going to say next. “Does your brother know?”

Brandon squints at him. “I think he knows.”

“But you’ve never told him?”

“It just never really came up, I guess,” Brandon says with a shrug. “I’m sure he’s cool with it. We’re just not close like that.”

“I wanna meet your brother,” Adam says, finally.

Brandon snorts. “You’ve met him.”

“Not playing against him, dick,” Adam says, gently pushing Brandon by the shoulder. “Like, actually meet him.”

“Why, so you can get introduced as my boyfriend?”

Adam thinks about it. “I mean, if you want to.”

“I’ll schedule dinner with him, then,” Brandon mumbles. Adam is perhaps a bit more excited about the prospect than Brandon thinks he is. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Only if you let me be big spoon,” Adam says.

“Christ,” Brandon mutters, but he’s turning onto his other side and grabbing Adam’s hand to throw it over his ribs. “Happy now?”

“Absolutely,” Adam says. And he won’t even talk shit about the way Brandon makes a soft, happy noise when he tucks his nose into the soft hairs at the nape of Brandon’s neck. He’s very giving like that.

 

 

It takes a little while before they figure out a proper time to try out Brandon’s little toybox of terror. Adam does _not_ want to show up to practice with welts on his ass, thank you very much. Scheifs has seen his sculpted, nude body in many stages of distress, but paddle marks might be a step too far.

So a break where they don’t have to be in the presence of their very nosy teammates works best. Unfortunately, the best time they get is when they’re kicked out of the playoffs. Which fucking sucks. And they do spend a couple of days moping. But you know, each missed opportunity is an open door in disguise, or something.

Adam pokes delicately at Brandon’s calf with his foot. He’s sitting on the other couch—because as much as Adam likes cuddling, two hockey players on one couch is a bit much—looking like he’s about four minutes from passing the fuck out.

“Hey,” Adam says, and he clears his throat. “You got plans today?”

Brandon yawns. “I dunno. Wanna go out for dinner?”

“Well, yes,” Adam concedes, because there’s genuinely no food in Brandon’s fridge other than a limp thing of something that might’ve been green once. “But I was wondering if you had, like, immediate plans.”

Brandon slowly turns his head to face him. “Use your words, Adam.”

“Wanna try using those things you bought?” he asks, because he might as well bite the bullet.

Brandon immediately perks up, nearly jumping to his feet. “Oh. Oh, shit, yeah. Uh-huh. Let’s use 'em.”

Adam follows him the bedroom, where Brandon is busily digging a box out from the closet and kneeling on the floor to look through it.

“You can sit on the bed,” Brandon says, waving at him from over his shoulder. “Give me a minute.”

Adam does what he’s told, because he’s a great listener and not for any other reason. He watches the broad shape of Brandon’s back, muscles moving under his shirt, and he is _not_ going to get a boner about this. He turns his attention to what Brandon’s decided to play with instead.

This is also how Adam finds out that Brandon did not actually return any of the things he said he would, while he scatters whips and sleeves and a particularly nasty-looking plug on the hardwood floor.

“I thought you were gonna get rid of those,” Adam says, pointing his entire hand at something that looks like one of those extendable pointers but is clearly meant to destroy someone’s life.

“I forgot,” Brandon says absently. He finds the paddle and two short leather straps, turning to Adam and brandishing them happily. “Found 'em!”

“Proud of you,” Adam says.

Brandon crosses the distance between them in a few short steps, drops his instruments on the bed. He’s smiling. “You too.”

Brandon kisses him, which Adam is very okay with, because Brandon is a good—if aggressive—kisser. Tilting Adam’s head with one firm hand on his jaw, licking into his mouth. Biting at his lip, but not too hard. Just enough for Adam to gasp a little bit. He does enjoy when Brandon takes the reins though. He supposes that’s how he’s found himself here.

When Brandon pulls away Adam almost follows him, which is—not something he’s particularly proud of. Brandon smirks at him.

“Paddle or hand?” Brandon asks, and really, it’s a little cruel that he’s trying to get Adam to make a decision when he’s not quite sure if he’s got enough brain cells functioning right now to rub together.

“Uh,” Adam says, very unhelpfully.

“They’re different feelings when you get hit,” Brandon explains, patient. “Hands are more—I guess it’s kind of like a stinging feeling? It’s not bad, if you wanna start there. Paddles are gonna make you bruise, so if that’s not what you want…”

“Maybe both?” Adam decides after a moment. “But definitely paddle-heavy. How about that?”

Brandon grins and nods. “Yup. Got it. I think I want you in your boxers for now,” he says, before helping Adam strip his shirt and sweats off.

Brandon sits next to him, grabs one of the leather straps and reaches for his hand. Adam notices the buckle and the ring, perhaps a little late, but he _does_ notice them.

“Aw, they’re not like regular handcuffs,” Adam says, only a little whiny.

“They’re leather,” Brandon says patiently, wrapping the cuff around Adam’s wrist and cinching it. “I don’t want the metal shit to wreck your shit. And I think you’d manage to tear the ones made out of, like, nylon or whatever.”

“Oh,” Adam says. Well, you learn something new every day. Brandon moves over, cuffs his other wrist too.

“Can you do this?” Brandon opens and closes his hand, and Adam copies him. “And rotate, yeah, like that. Does it hurt? Feel uncomfortable?”

“Should be okay,” Adam decides.

“Great,” Brandon says, and then he’s attaching the chain to the cuffs’ rings. “Now try and move.”

Adam tugs. Then a little harder, while Brandon stands in front of him. He _yanks_. Definitely not budging. It’s not a lot of distance either; he can barely uncross his wrists.

Brandon hums. Adam does not particularly like his tone, and especially not when he turns to look through the box again and finds a blindfold.

“Bro,” Adam starts. He swallows. Like, yeah, he thought it was fun when they did it for that video, but he’s pretty sure it wasn’t… horny fun.

Brandon cocks his head at him. “You trust me?”

“I—yeah,” Adam croaks.

“Good. Then hold still,” Brandon murmurs, and Adam swears it sends a roll of something equal parts hot and embarrassing up his spine. He closes his eyes, lets Brandon pull the blindfold over.

He breathes slowly once Brandon’s hands have stopped shifting the blindfold, blinks against the fabric. The blindfold isn’t tight, but it does cling, which shuts out his vision pretty good. Even though it’s broad daylight outside he might as well be sleeping in the dark.

“Okay?” Brandon asks, and Adam straightens his back. He was not expecting Brandon to talk from so… to the left.

“Kinda fucky,” Adam says, He’s not sure how else to describe it. “Not in a bad way, I don’t think.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable or anything, just tell me,” Brandon says. “I can take it off.”

“Should I have, like, a safeword?” Adam asks. He feels a little adrift already, stretches his fingers out just to feel the texture of the sheets.

“Probably,” Brandon replies. He sounds suspiciously far away. “You can decide on one, if you’d like.”

“I dunno what people use for safewords.”

“Colors, I guess,” Brandon says, thoughtfully. “You know, green means go, red means stop.”

“I can do that,” Adam says. He adds, “Green, by the way.”

Brandon’s hand on his neck almost makes him jump. His thumb’s stroking in wide sweeps along his jawline, pulling his stubble against the grain. Adam hears the smile in his voice. “Good to hear.”

Adam feels the soft press of Brandon’s lips against his, his hand skimming down his chest before pinching, quick, around his nipple.

“You’re gonna do great,” Brandon says, and it’s so warm and fond that if he wasn’t about to paddle someone’s ass into pieces Adam’d find it kind of sweet.

Brandon has one hand on his bicep, pulling on his arm until he stands. He gets turned by his waist—a couple of spins, actually, because Brandon’s kind of a dick like that. When he’s finally allowed to stop moving, Adam gets a shove on his shoulder.

“You can bend over now,” Brandon says, unbothered like it’s something he says all the time (not _all_ the time, but yeah). Adam sure hopes he’s facing the bed.

Adam’s tall as shit and Brandon’s bed is slightly too low, which makes lying over it a little tough. He misjudges the distance and hits it too late, that stomach-jerk feeling like forgetting the last stair. If he wants his chest to lie flat on the mattress he’s gonna have to bend his knees just shy of being comfortable. Brandon probably planned this, Adam thinks grimly. He can tell his calves are gonna be sore, and it’s not like the rest of his body’s gonna be in perfect shape.

“Good,” Brandon says, once Adam’s figured out the whole situation, which is bad for his legs no matter what. He skims his fingers along the small of Brandon’s back, pulls his boxers down so the elastic is just under the curve of his ass. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Adam replies. He’s a little jittery, in a good way. _Adam’s first spank sesh_. He stuffs down the giggle.

The first tap is gentle, barely anything. More like a brush of the paddle against his ass. It still makes him flinch a little, just because he’s not expecting it. It’s—well, it’s a little disappointing, to be honest.

“You can hit harder than that,” Adam says.

Brandon snorts. “I’m working up to it. Be patient.”

The next smack is a little harder, but not too bad. So’s the third. They’re just loud, nothing really behind them. If _this_ is paddling then maybe he should ask for a refund.

“Okay so far?” Brandon asks, and Adam nods vigorously.

“Totally okay,” Adam says. He gives Brandon a thumbs up, which he hopes he notices.

“Let’s make this interesting, then.” Brandon taps the back of Adam’s knee with the paddle.

And then he brings it, hard, across Adam’s ass. It’s not just the sound of it in the room—

“Ow,” Adam mumbles. That one actually smarted.

The next one makes him shift a little on his feet. The one after, and he bites at his lip. It’s starting to hurt, no doubt about it, and yet there’s something weirdly pleasant in the deep, squirmy feeling that the paddle leaves in its wake. Brandon pauses for a second—he can hear the corner of the paddle tap against the floor—and the anticipation makes Adam start to sweat.

Okay. He can understand why people like this stuff so much now.

The pause stretches. He thinks Brandon might be walking around to the other side of the bed, peering at his face. He opens his mouth to ask about the situation, and he’s definitely not expecting the next hit when it comes, groaning as the paddle meets his skin.

“How’s it feeling?” Brandon asks, even as he hits him again.

“Hurts, dude,” Adam says, half on a groan. “In a— _god_ —in a good way, but it hurts.”

“That’s good to hear. And you’re getting hard too, huh?” Brandon asks, reaching around to grab at Adam’s dick through the fabric. Adam wasn’t even worrying about the situation down there considering everything else, but now that Brandon’s drawn attention to it his dick’s _insistent_ on being known.

“You’ve been trying to rub off against the bed, you know,” Brandon says, and his absent, unconcerned voice is equally frustrating and incredibly hot. He swipes his thumb across the head of Adam’s dick. “Didn’t notice that, did you?”

“No,” Adam says, and he has no idea when his voice got so wrecked.

Brandon hums. He pulls his hand away, and Adam knows he’s going to do it, but he still yelps when he gets paddled, even harder than before.

“Fuck,” he hisses at the next strike, especially when it gets followed by a second and third in quick succession. Adam’s not sure if Brandon’s putting his whole body behind these ones or not but they _hurt_ , make his chest tighten up and his toes curl.

“I’m running out of real estate here,” Brandon’s saying, like he can hear Adam’s thoughts. “I’m hitting spots that’ve already been hit. Hurts more this time around.”

“That’d explain a lot,” Adam mutters, and he _jumps_ when the next swat is the flat of Brandon’s hand. It’s a different feeling, sharp and snappy instead of something heavy, deep.

“Let’s be nice today,” Brandon says, tsking, and Adam thinks he might actually be the death of him.

Adam doesn’t know what to do. Stuff his face into the mattress maybe? That’d probably muffle most of the really fuckin’ embarrassing sounds he’s making, but he might suffocate. Part of him wants to curl his legs up but that definitely wouldn’t help the burning that’s crawling down his thighs and making his legs shake.

Brandon gives him another break, but it’s like being half-awake before an alarm, afraid to fall asleep in case the ringing starts in the next moment. Adam feels the mattress shift when Brandon sits on it. He doesn’t quite flinch when a hand lands in his hair, but it’s a close thing.

Brandon’s fingers runs through his hair, scratching pleasantly at his scalp and tugging gently at the strands. It’s nice, helps him relax. Lets him focus on something else for a change, instead of paying attention to the throbbing heat in his lower body and his outrageous boner. Adam clenches and releases his hands, works on slowing down his breathing.

“You doing okay?” Brandon asks. “Want me to be gentler?”

“Absolutely not,” Adam replies, firm. “If I can still sit down after this I’m gonna be so mad at you.”

Brandon laughs, and his weight on the mattress disappears. “You got it.”

Brandon gives him a few soft hits to work him up, and even those ones feel a little uncomfortable. When he grabs at him and sinks his blunt fingertips into the meat of his ass, Adam pops a knee onto the mattress without even thinking about it, tries to pull himself away. But Brandon has a firm hold on his ankle, yanking him back into place, and the next slap, with his hand again—the next one makes him whimper.

“Be good,” Brandon says, quiet and so, so calm.

When Brandon hits him with the paddle, Adam tries to move away from it just by shifting on his feet, shuddering when his dick rubs against the edge of the mattress.

He licks his lips. Moves back into the next stroke because he’s pretty sure that’s how he can be “good”—whatever that means—then resettles himself against the mattress. Does it again with the next one, rocking against the surface in a way he hopes is unnoticeable. He’s getting closer faster than he thought he would, though being hard for the past—twenty? thirty? minutes, Adam realizes he has no idea how much time has passed—would do it. He breathes out, and he thinks, just a little—

“Hold on,” Brandon says, one hand firm on Adam’s hip pulling him back. Adam swears under his breath. “Come on, you can’t hold it together a little better than that?”

“Brandon, I—” Adam swallows. “I really need—”

“Use your words,” Brandon says softly. “You can tell me.”

Adam opens his mouth. Shuts it.

“I can hit you again, if it’d help,” Brandon offers, and Adam shakes his head fast.

“Can you touch me? Please?” If his face wasn’t burning to the touch then it certainly would be now. He feels too vulnerable, too sensitive. The blindfold is almost a relief.

Brandon hums thoughtfully. “I dunno, Adam. You gotta tell me if you deserve that.”

“ _Please._ ” It pushes past his lips faster than he can stop it. “Please, Brandon?”

He just lies there and breathes for a minute. The silence stretches, and he wonders if Brandon left the room entirely. That’d be a littled fucked up. He doesn’t want Brandon to go.

There’s a gentle hand on his elbow, pulling back on him until he stands. He’s turned and pressed down until he’s sitting on the bed—Adam winces and breathes out hard, the sheets too rough on his skin and the pressure of his own weight pressing his ass into the mattress.

Something touches the front of the blindfold, and Adam winces against the sudden rush of light hitting his eyes. It takes him a moment for his vision to come back to him, but Brandon’s standing right there, sweaty and red-faced and looking way too smug.

“Hey there,” Brandon says, cheerful, and he reaches down to drag the elastic of Adam’s waistband down his dick before pulling his boxers down to his ankles in one brisk movement.

Adam chokes out a sob when Brandon wraps a loose hand around his cock. He’s barely even touching, fingers fluttering against heated skin. He squeezes his eyes shut, because Brandon’s _looking_ at him and somehow that’s worse (and better) than being touched right now.

“Pay attention,” Brandon says, one harsh stroke making Adam’s eyes shoot open.

Brandon keeps his grip infuriatingly gentle, hand just skimming against Adam’s dick. His other hand holds Adam’s chin steady, making sure he stays right where he wants him.

“You can ask me nicely,” Brandon says, monotone. “If you want.”

“I’ve been good,” Adam tries, and Brandon hmms in response.

“Sort of,” Brandon says with a shrug.

“You didn’t really outline it, bro,” Adam grumbles. He’s a little breathless. That’s concerning, maybe.

Brandon pretends to be deep in thought for a second. “Well,” he says, slowly, “I mean, it’s not bad for your first go at it. I can be nice this time.”

“ _Please_ ,” Adam says, and he doesn’t mean for it to come out so whining and desperate but if Brandon so much as breathed on his dick right now he might fucking explode.

Brandon smiles at him, kisses him on his forehead. “You got it,” he says quietly.

The thing is that they’ve been fucking for like, a year, and Brandon’s got a pretty good grasp on what makes Adam come. Like, he’ll be the first to admit that he’s an easy fella—a mouth or a hand is more than enough. The issue here is that Brandon, like most athletes, is competitive to the point of it being a character flaw, and sometimes that line of thought goes to _how quick can I make my boyfriend come_? Which is to say: pretty fucking fast. Adam never really thought of this being an issue until being on the edge of coming for twenty minutes has suddenly collided with that very specific way that Brandon lubes his hand and jerks Adam off like he’ll get a trophy for it. So—

Adam thinks he comes harder than he has in his entire goddamn life. He might go vaguely unconscious for a second there. Brandon works him through it, because of course he does. It’s overwhelming, the prickly feeling of being oversensitive and wanting more and knowing it's a bad idea to get it.

Adam feels him move away, and there’s a sudden surge of alarm in his chest. “Brandon—”

“One second,” Brandon says. It’s not until Adam can move his arms apart that he realizes what has happened, and he lets out a sigh of relief.

When Adam tips forward to rest his head against Brandon’s chest, it feels way too good, only made better when he can shove his hands up the back of Brandon’s shirt and touch some skin.

“I got you,” Brandon murmurs, the fingers of one hand scratching soothingly against the short hair at the back of his head. He slowly rocks from side to side, humming tunelessly. It sounds vaguely familiar, but really, Adam’s just trying to make sure his soul doesn’t exit his body right now.

Brandon pauses for a moment to say, “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll get you something to rub on your bruises, okay?”

“You just wanna touch my ass,” Adam mumbles.

“Guilty,” Brandon replies, and he starts humming again.

Adam has no idea how long they’re pressed together like that. After a while, he feels… better. Not that he was feeling bad? Just this sensation of floating that didn’t sit quite right with him, like he needed a moment to get reeled back in or something. Unsettling, yeah. He wonders if Brandon knows anything about that—he’ll have to ask about it later.

“I think I’m okay now,” Adam says, pulling away and blinking up at Brandon. “Uh, I’ll talk to you about it in a bit.”

“Sounds good.”

Brandon coaxes him to lie down on his back before helping him roll over onto his stomach. “I’m gonna put this cream on you. It’s gonna be a little sore, but it’ll help, okay?”

Adam gives him a thumbs up. Brandon’s so gentle when he rubs something smooth and cool against his skin. Adam still twitches, especially when his fingers drag against a particularly bruised area, but it’s not as bad as he was expecting. It’s okay, is what he means.

When Brandon’s done, he rubs something that smells pleasant and a little spicy into his back. It's a little cold, but it warms up quick with the combination of Adam's body heat and Brandon's hands smoothing it out.

“What’re you doing?”

“Putting lotion on,” Brandon replies. “Your skin’s awful.”

“Help me out then,” Adam whines.

Brandon snorts, pressing the heels of his palms into Adam’s shoulders. He groans when he works out a vague knot that’s been floating there for a while. He’s really getting the full boyfriend experience. 

“Christ, Rusty,” Adam says, muffled from where he’s stuck his face directly into the pillow. He might be drooling. He wipes at his mouth, starts to roll over onto his side, but he’s stopped by a hand on his back.

“Hold on, taking a picture,” Brandon says. Adam groans, tries ineffectually to smack at his hand.

“If you’re not getting up any time soon, you should see what I did,” Brandon says, and he sounds so very pleased with himself that Adam sighs. He _does_ stop wriggling and holds still long enough to hear his phone’s camera sound.

Brandon flops onto the bed next to him, tilts his phone over so Adam can see.

“Holy shit,” Adam says.

First of all, he looks pasty as fuck (and did he always have that many freckles on his back?). But it’s genuinely impressive that his ass is about four different colors: a soft pink blooming on the edges of a deep red nearly turning purple on the widest curve of his ass. He doesn’t even remember Brandon hitting him on his legs, but the back of his thighs just under his ass are pink too.

“Huh,” he says. “My ass is like, really good.”

Brandon rolls his eyes, elbows him gently in the ribs. “It’s not terrible.”

Adam pillows his head on his arm, scoots a little closer to where Brandon has apparently lost interest in ass pics and is currently browsing Instagram. Okay, a lot closer. He’s basically breathing in Brandon’s ear right now, but that’s fine.

Brandon absently slings an arm around his head, follows the curve of Adam’s ear as he pets his hair.

“I’m gonna take a nap right here,” Adam says, yawning. “Wake me up in an hour?”

“Sure,” Brandon replies, and Adam falls asleep listening to Brandon giggling at his phone.

**Author's Note:**

> Over at [Tumblr](https://arzoensis.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
